#case files unearthed

[ace-does-nerd-stuff]

So.. I realize something. I have a type for the stories I get interested in Because there are two fucking stories I've gotten into that can be described as "information seeker gets involved in supernatural means, partially through a ghost hunting group, uncovers corruption in the place that he works, realizes that the horrors have categories and he belongs to one, accidentally releases all the horrors, and documents the stories through recordings"

[cyan-circuits]

Madame Murie

[casefilesunearthed]

⚠️ Flash Warning!!! ⚠️

California Dreamin - Halloween Horror Nights

Characters: Boris Shuster, Madame Murie, Rosie, Charlie McPherson, Mary Agana/Bloody Mary, Tim Foyle

[dalimarisdaddy1967]

My Collection Is Finally Complete!

Did you guys know there are Mystery Case Files books? I did! There are 4 of them to be exact and after trying for forever to get them I have acquired all 4 and wanted to show them off! If any of you lovely people have read these, please don't spoil them. I haven't yet but I plan to soon.

Here are all 4 of the Mystery Case Files books. The series of books are called Blackpool Mysteries and they were written by Jordan Gray and distributed by a company called Harlequin Enterprises. The titles are Stolen, Vanished, Submerged & Unearthed. As I said, I haven't read them yet but I just love the thought of having them all finally! You guys know how obsessed with Mystery Case Files I am so this is definitely a dream come true for me! For anyone looking to get these, I got them for a decent price on Amazon. I got mine used, hence the creases and marks but I'm not complaining. I think they also had them available new but I was fine with used! I'm just happy to have them!

Here is a close up of the first book in the series which is titled Stolen. There is a pair of old shoes on the cover with the words 'Secrets are the heart of Blackpool...' next to them. This book was published in August of 2010. At first glance, this book looks like it'll be good but let's take a look at the back.

The description on the back of the book reads:'A cozy English seaside town built on secrets and smugglers, Blackpool is a haven for tourists and home to generations of locals who like their privacy. American Molly Graham and her British husband, Michael, are considered outsiders, but feel irresistibly drawn to this town... and its darker curiosities. Because Blackpool harbors dangerous mysteries. And murder is just the beginning. A shattering scream outside the old theater leads to the victim, a woman whose past in Blackpool is linked to a seventy-year-old train wreck, a lost child and a cache of valuable paintings smuggled out of London during World War II. After a number of frustrating missteps, can Molly and Michael discover the killer in their midst? In Blackpool they know secrets run deep. And some want them hidden forever-at any cost.'

Honestly this book sounds like it will be such a good read and I love the fact it is set in Blackpool.

Here we have the second book which is titled Vanished. It was released in November of 2010. There is an arm chair with the words 'A town built on secrets and danger' next to it. This sounds so good. Before I continue to showing the back I wanna make a point about something... this cover. The room on the cover. Am I crazy or does it kinda vaguely resemble the parlor of Ravenhearst Manor?

This is a picture of the parlor as seen in Ravenhearst. I can't be the only one who thinks the cover of Vanished vaguely resembles this room right? The style of the wall, the arm chair, the picture on the wall. I could be reaching or it could merely be just a slight nod to it but come on! I'm not imagining it right?! I swear if there isn't at least a nod to the Dalimars or at least Ravenhearst Manor in this series I will be a bit disappointed! I mean they're set in Blackpool! Anyway... onto the back of the book!

Excuse the fingers and the tape and tag. My copy was a copy that was removed from a library so it still had the inventory tag thing taped to it and I had to peel it back to read the description. Anyway the back of the book reads:'Locals in the English coastal town of Blackpool don't take kindly to strangers, but newcomers Michael and Molly Graham have managed to make a few good friends. Dylan Stewart has encouraged them to join him and go native during the town's annual Seafaring Days celebrations. The event makes for lively crowds, colorful costumes-and a perfect cover for murder. Troublemaker Willis Myners is found stabbed in his boat and the police's main suspect is Dylan himself. Michael and Molly can't help but be pulled into the mystery-and deeper into the dark history of Blackpool. Amid whispers of cursed sixteenth-century coins and gyspy gold, what they discover is something far more sinister than the revenge of a jealous husband. And much more dangerous.'

That description makes it sound like a nod to Phineas Crown maybe but being in Blackpool is a little weird for that to be the case. I'm still hoping for at least a nod to the Dalimars or Ravenhearst Manor especially with this cover.

Here is the third book which is titled Submerged. It was released in February of 2011. The cover has a submerged ship and next to it are the words 'A town built on secrets and danger.' Honestly these books look so incredibly good and even if there isn't a nod to the Dalimars, which it would be kinda weird and a missed opportunity if not, I think these books will be worth the read.

The back of this book reads:'The mysteries of the English seacoast town of Blackpool linger centuries after its powerful founder died with his secrets. Newcomers Molly and Michael Graham are intrigued by the sinister curiosities of their adopted home, for though the picturesque waterfront shops are a haven for tourists, the locals keep to themselves. And most have something to hide... A preservation grant brings a massive restoration project to the marina, throwing the town into political turmoil. As Molly wades into the fray, a young woman is kidnapped, a thug turns up dead and a shipwreck is discovered in the harbor! The Grahams are plunged into a legacy of smugglers, betrayal and murder... and even deeper into the heart of Blackpool's most shocking and long-buried truths.'

See now with these books being set in Blackpool and all the talk of murder and secrets and all that... there has to be at least a nod to the Dalimars. I know I keep saying that but it would be kinda silly if not. You guys know how I am about the Dalimars, especially one of them in particular.

Here is the fourth and final book which is titled Unearthed and it was released in May of 2011. The cover has a statue of an angel on it with the words 'A town built on secrets and danger' next to it. Honestly, this cover gives me Ravenhearst vibes. Okay... I'll stop... maybe... lol.

The back of this fourth and final book of the series reads:'Behind the colorful charm and vibrant history of the English seaside town of Blackpool is a legacy of secrets. Secrets people have killed to keep hidden. But for Michael and Molly Graham, finding the truth has become personal. Their friend clings to life in a hospital-shot to keep him quiet-and the couple is driven to uncover what he would risk his life for...and what someone would murder for. But the pieces of this puzzle are as disparate as any they've faced-a sunken pirate ship, a one-legged skeleton, vengeful curses and a grim family legacy. And if they put the pieces together, will they only be digging their own graves?'

Okay... come on! Grim family legacy! If that's not a Dalimar family reference I will cease to exist cuz... come on now! That's a dead giveaway!

Anyway! That's all! These look so good! Even if there are no Dalimar or Ravenhearst references I'm sure I'll still love them cuz... it's Mystery Case Files! As I stated previously, if you want them, Amazon has a decent price for them. Not sure if they have new cuz I got them used but that's where I got them. Happy hunting!

@detectiveruth @masterdetectivemcf @macatt4c @fallenidol-453 @redrum-eht @hakurakurohime @proustianlesbian @thebiggestpartypooper @rebellovesthings @artsydon @hiddenobject-fanblog @pookiethebloodsucker @apeirotilio @ink-and-pixels @arty-girl-asks @angelsmama1968

[glxywinterghost]

Songs from my Boris Shuster playlist I would make into an animatic for each book if I had the time, skills, and effort to do so:

Terrors of the Tenement: You're at the Party - Lemon Demon

Murder by Mannequins: Survive - Night Club

Massacre at the Museum: Young and Menace - Fall Out Boy

Murder by Moss Man: In the Shadows - Amy Stroup

The Lustful Alibi: Burn - King Woman

The Beast Unleashed: Wonderful Nothing - Glass Animals

Death by Dolly: Bad Intentions - Digital Daggers

Evidence to the Contrary: Hellfire - FEVER 333

Case of the Terrible Totems (1957): Final Masquerade - Linkin Park

Case of the Terrible Totems (1991): Phantasmagoria - Ashbury Heights

(note that these are my first choices, not my only choices, this playlist is over 7 hours and does not even begin to cover alternate events, other character playlists, or personal favorites that don't quite match the vibe like these ones do)

[sharkodude]

“A Dance with a Devil”

[psiknight49]

While looking up information for Case Files Unearthed on the HHN Wiki, I’ve found an Easter Egg. In one of Tim Foyle’s sticky note. It states that Rosie, the girl who got posses by the Morphan vessel. Was sent to an Orphanage up in the Midwest so no one suspect the crime.

Do you know what state is a part of the midwest? Ohio. Which means Rosie could have been sent to the Good Harvest Orphanage. Which is in Carey, Ohio. 

Pictures were from the HHN Wiki:

Case Files Unearthed: Legendary Truth

Orfanage: Ashes to Ashes

[glxywinterghost]

this is truly the funniest time to bring up the hc that boris argues on forums about his own novels

I've rarely seen a more validating sentence in my entire life.

[outofgloom]

AI KURU: An Anthology of Weird Fiction Horror and Art in the World of BIONICLE

LINK TO FILE (PDF)

Update 10/8/24: Now also posted as a series on AO3!

aikuru adj. Unknown, obscure, foggy, dark. A Matoric word...

This is a collection of eighteen original short stories and associated artwork set within the world and universe of BIONICLE (a property of LEGO), taken from the Art & Writing section of this blog.

If you are not familiar with the lore of this world, the characters, settings, and themes of these stories will be obscure to you, although perhaps not entirely incomprehensible...

Many of these stories feature beings called Matoran: the biomechanical worker-beings of a vast, artificial world. The Matoran were designed as automatons by their creators (an enigmatic group known only as the “Great Beings) but later evolved by unknown means to become self-aware and self-actualizing while still keeping to their original programming as maintainers of the world. Alongside Matoran are the Toa—powerful elemental warriors who are sworn to serve and protect—as well as the Turaga, elders who guide and govern the Matoran (and who were formerly Toa themselves). An array of other creatures and species are present as well, with their own special characteristics and functions in keeping the great Machine of the World running.

Many of these stories explore themes related to the emergence of self-actualization, culture, and emotional complexity amongst the Matoran and the other beings they share the universe with. A similar theme of these stories is “forbidden knowledge”, dealing with cases where the creatures of BIONICLE gain some knowledge about the nature of their world and are forced to grapple with it, sometimes with disastrous results. Themes of death, loss, change, companionship, betrayal, curiosity, obsession, and the weariness of duty may also be found.

Some stories are set within specific moments of the larger BIONICLE narrative, both past and future, and feature established characters and settings from the lore, while others feature entirely original characters and settings.

The final story in the anthology is different. It is not set within the artificial world of the Matoran, but instead on the world of the “Great Beings” themselves, called Spherus Magna—a planet which was shattered and then remade by the machine-world of the Matoran (which took the form of a planetoid-sized robot). The story is set long after the conclusion of the story of BIONICLE proper, in a time when the inhabitants of Spherus Magna have moved on from the destruction of the past in many ways, but remain nevertheless fascinated by the mysteries buried beneath the surface of their world . . . with some even attempting to unearth those mysteries, for better or worse.

I hope that you enjoy these works, and that, through these stories and the accompanying art, you too may glimpse the way that is called BIONICLE.

[adachimoe]

Atlus, please tell me the lore behind Adachi's mp3 player

Even just looking at Adachi, he doesn't exactly have the image of someone who gives a shit lol.

And this is intentional. Soejima talks about this aspect of Adachi's design in the P4 Design Works. Adachi is said to be an elite officer, one of the best of the best, and Soejima thought an elite might be smart, but lacking in other areas. For this reason, Soejima designed him with that crooked tie and messy bedhead.

That's certainly a common thing in fiction - someone who's good at one thing, but a complete space case in something unrelated. Though he comes off as incompetent in-game, to the extent that him showing competency in December surprises Dojima lol. And even when you get into the real dumb plot stuff that I write 10k words about, it took him like 4 months to figure out that "people can come out of the TV". Ma-Maybe his record was better at his old station.

Even in what Atlus has mentioned about the setting for P4 that doesn't get discussed in-game, Adachi's red tie is something Dojima gave him, and only because Dojima got tired of seeing him wear the old shabby tie he wore before and gave him one of his spare neckties.

If Dojima had never just given him a different tie to wear, I imagine Adachi would still be wearing his old shitty tie until it completely fell apart... Is Adachi pathetic enough to try and like... tape a tie together? Probably.

Him not caring too much about appearance and being a messy guy seems to extend to other aspects of his life. Even in his character profiles for P4 and P4AU, both say he's terrible at cleaning his room and the P4 one also says he sucks at filing paperwork lol.

This continues in his P4AU narration. The investigating detective pulls out 3 pieces of "evidence": A TV which ends up being used to get Adachi into the plot, a model gun which fits with his hobby being doing gun maintenance at home, and some kind of random off brand iPod-esque thing.

The actual music player itself is unimportant. Instead, it's used for a little characterization moment where Adachi confirms that it is indeed something that's his (he even remembers how he got it!), but he didn't particularly care about it and just left it wherever.

All things considered, I get the mental image of Adachi being the kind of guy who uses that meme 13-in-1 ~for men~ product, and his room is just a mountain of cup noodles and piles of random bullshit. Maybe there are more iPods and model guns to be unearthed from underneath his other stuff.

All of this is only talking about the more physical and material aspects of him, but I think you can extend this to who he is as a person and his mentality as well. Granted, some guys in real life end up being useless slobs as adults because they're used to their mom/sister/family/etc babying them, but uhhhhhhh from what Adachi says about his past, we can instantly rule that out with him.

(Edit: As a comment pointed out, upon re-reading this this does sound weird. When I wrote this, I was thinking more about doormat pushover moms. I don't see Adachi's mom doing domestic stuff as her babying him as a child because it strikes me as the Default Gender Role thing where the dad makes the money but the mom takes care of the household. And from how Adachi talks about it, you get the impression she wasn't hyper attentive towards him, as if she did like the bare minimum lol. Adachi's attitude towards the whole thing also strikes me as different than the dudes who grow up as spoiled little kings in their households.)

It seems pretty sensible to correlate his physical state and the way he uses it to express a lack of care for himself to something going on in his brain. Adult burnout, depression, lack of self-esteem & self-worth, all of the above.

I like the random anecdote about the music player, especially since it's him. A bingo game at a New Year's party............... A bingo game at a New Year's party???????????? Adachi, you went to a New Year's party? Hoooly shit dude I don't even do that.

Since he was in jail during New Years 2012 and only arrived in Inaba during spring 2011, for him to have won it during New Year's implies this is from before the events of Persona 4. E.g. it's not something Dojima dragged him to. I assume it was some work-related New Year's party when he was still stationed in Iwatodai. Keeping up appearances for the higher-ups? Did he just want free food? A bit lonely and wanted company and absolutely not gonna say that outloud? (All of the above?)

In both his P4 dialogue and his P4AU inner thoughts, he tends to look down on others. He's annoyed by the old woman at Junes (...though his voiced line on rank 6 expresses he liked her doting on him), he calls the protagonist a dumbass (...but only after admitting he misses him, Dojima, and Nanako), he doesn't think he'll ever get married (even tho I'm available).

And yet, as little blurbs like this go to show, we know he still participates. ♪(´▽｀)

Did he even use the iPod thing before chucking it? What did he put on it? Idols or something? Answer me, Atlus.

[ace-does-nerd-stuff]

i KNEW there was something off about conjure the dark. i just couldnt place it. so here's pictures from conjure the dark

and at first i thought these runes were the ones that had to do with this year's event but.. then i was looking through case files unearthed and

Some of these symbols have to do with the Legions of Horror. Conjure the Dark has to do with the Legions of Horror

[graceandtheidiotsquad]

reblogging this for HHN 32 because there is some POTENTIAL-

Just-Just a thought-

So I got back from HHN and-I FINALLY SAW BORIS SHUSTER’S OFFICE!!!/pos

But of course, I couldn’t see anything of my beloved detective without my brain going into creative overdrive so-so hear me out-

Reflections of Fear or just HHN18-the style of that year-But it’s centered around BORIS. 

Like-like-the themes of all the houses of that year being connected by one central story, but in a cinematic parallel it’s the OPPOSITE of Dr. Agana-Shuster is her nemesis, her Antithesis-similar in pursuit of knowledge and curiosity, but opposite and differing ideals. Perhaps it could expand on the stories we saw in case files-or even NEW stories the legendary truth have been involved in-we could FINALLY get answers as to why his name disappeared from the website, what HAPPENED to him-or perhaps a main house culminating in either his disappearance, or answers what exactly happened the night of his appointment at dr. Agana’s office-maybe even the direct aftermath of Tim Foil’s little experiment at the end of Casefiles if we’re lucky. All I know is that i am CRAVING a lore heavy year and I ADORE the legendary truth-I would participate in any game or arg they set up in a HEARTBEAT and I would LOVE to see a year where this part of the lore finally gets the spotlight-Hell we know Boris is technically CONSIDERED an Icon now-this has POTENTIAL!

[shojizbae]

Explorative Operation

Spencer Reid x reader

(takes place during season 6 after JJ leaves) oops spoilers, dw she comes back

Garcia's snooping goes too far, and she ends up unearthing some truths about the new hire. Unfortunately, those truths feel are a little more intimate than you were willing to divulge with the team. Especially details you wouldn't want to spread on a first date.

Spencer had no clue how this happened. Of course, curiosity killed the cat but in this case, this was more like a mixture of hubris and inquisivity slaughtering a lion. A week of preliminary interviews had yielded 3 finalists and, finally, you. Young, stunning, sharp as a tack, and most importantly, hired. After Hotchner had announced to the team for you that you were hired, they sent you home until 8 am tomorrow.

"Baby girl, did you hear that?" Penelope swung her head around and gave her classic doe-eyed look.

"We finally got a new media liaison." The team feels the conflicted stir of relief and grief. Their workloads should be lightened but they missed JJ. It had been a couple of months since she was transferred to the Pentagon, and the team was spread too thin without her.

"Oh (L/n) or Raleigh?"

"Wasn't there three finalists?" Emily corrects

"Yeah, but Rossi said that Kuschner reminded him of his second wife, and we didn't want to relive that relationship." Penelope sipped her coffee with a cheeky look in her eye. "So, who'd they go with?"

"(L/n)." Morgan declares as he puts his hands on his hips

"Ah that's good, she had a nice clean background, good college and she crushed it in the academy." Garcia smiled and innocently clicked off to her office. Morgan and emily shared mischievous glances as Spencer sat oblivious. He held his mug by his jaw and readjusted his hand in his pocket.

"What?"

"Why don't we go learn more about our new Liasion." Emily makes a downward smile, and Morgan stalks over to clap Reid on the back

"We should, gotta know who we're hiring."

Any protests of "Well, it's not technically us who's doing the hiring, but Chief Strauss." Were silenced as Morgan marched Spencer to the hidden office of Penelope Garcia.

"C'mon, pretty boy, no need to argue." Just down a hallway and around the corner the trio stumbles across the neon red curls of Penelope. Emily knocks on the jam of the open door.

"Hey Penny, we've got some questions about this miss ((L/n)."

"Oh, smart ones kneeling at the keeper all pearls of wisdoms in search of the A's to their Q's." Garcia spins around in her chair like a cartoon villain.

"We just want to know some things about this new liaison. You know this wound is still so fresh with JJ being gone and all." Emily plays innocently

"Well, they want this information. I want nothing to do with this sleuthing." Reid shows his palms in surrender and tries to spin around the counter but Morgan grabs him by the back of his sweater,

"Oh, know you don't, pretty boy."

"No," She points her finger in his face. "You can't use JJ as a chip in your nasty snooping."

"We just wanna know if there's anything we should be worried about, mama." Morgan juts out his lip

"You know I can't resist that sexy puppy face." Garcia spins around and flicks up her recent searches on you. A hundred files fly up, including credit car history, hospital visits, and even that dreaded 'permanent record' that every school principal threatens. Shockingly, all that's on it is that you got in a fistfight in seventh grade and served three weeks of after-school detention and a subsequent suspension from your varsity tennis team.

"What's this in her medical history?" Emily points at a page hidden behind a few tabs.

"Uhh, it just shows she had a pretty average childhood; she had her tonsils and adenoids removed at age five after some repeated tonsillitis and bronchitis. She broke her right arm when she was 7 and then her left one when she was 10. And oh god, she gave birth at seventeen, but 8 months prior, she had a rape kit administered." the ream halts a moment.

"Did the case go through?" Spencer questioned

"Yes, she filed suit for statutory a week after her kit and won the case, he went to jail for 6 years." Garcia clicks away

"What about the baby?" Emilys voice wavers

"Oh lord, he died 3 hours after she gave birth." Tears gather in Penelope's eyes. When she did a preliminary background search, most of the information was 'history of mental illness' or 'criminal record', of which she found none.

"Alright, I don't want to do this anymore." She took her hands off the keyboard

"That's alright, baby girl, you've done plenty. Why don't we take lunch?"

The next morning, you arrived before anyone else. All ready to start the day fresh. You even went out of the way to go to the fancy bakery up the street of your new apartment to get treats. You unlocked your office to get familiarized with it but were sent into a spin at the state of it. You spent the following forty minutes refining the filing cabinet, even pushing the desk into a different corner. Human metabolism caught up with you, and you went out to the kitchenette, and even as you started a fresh brew of coffee, you were wiping down the counters and organizing the tea by top notes. It didn't dawn on you that you had an audience. When the small alarm on the machine dinged, you filled your mug and put in a splash of creamer.

"Did you bribe the team with donuts?" you shot out of the refrigerator, ready to pulverize whoever scared you.

"Woah!" a brown-skinned man holds his hands up in surrender. "I just want to thank you. They were delicious. My name is SSA Derek Morgan, I'll be working with you." He holds out a hand, and I shake it bashfully.

"Yeah, I figured I'd attempt to start things off on a sweet note." I force out an awkward giggle but clear my throat. "If you need me, I'll be in my office." I take my coffee and skitter off the small flight of stairs to start raking through the freshly organized files of suspected serial killers. All day, I answer calls and prioritize deaths. For a moment, I ponder whether this job could give me a god complex, and I hope it doesn't. A knock on my door rips me from my trance, and an older Italian man with a lazy eye.

"We're going to meet at the round table. I'm SSA David Rossi." I shoot out of my chair and greet him with a firm handshake.

"Yes, sir, nice to see you again." I follow after him as we round a corner. Bloody photos of three crime scenes are displayed on the TV screen. The team finds it difficult to focus on the gory details as the new girl explains the details of the case. Your outfit isn't outrageous.

A gray pencil skirt with a small slit on the back, a white button down, but you'd rolled up your sleeves, and you wore a sweater. You'd clipped your hair up, but wavy little bits fell and framed your face. You paced around with the remote in hand as your boss divulged more of the science. When they make the decision to leave in an hour, you're the last to leave, but you give friendly smiles to everyone as they file out.

Between departure and arrival, you speak with the local PD to alert them of your arrival. Over the three-hour flight, you watch the team rake all scraps of evidence for a story. Garcia and I rake over misdemeanors in Nebraska to try and grasp a victim pool. As liaison, it's my job to chit-chat with police officers, grieving relatives, and generally anybody. Despite that, Hotch takes the lead as we intersperse our teams.

"And this is our liaison, Agent (Y/n) (L/n); she'll be your access to us." They break down every scrap of information in a way that's less scientific but artful. Instantly, I fell in love with my job. After 90 minutes of questioning, this is what I've gathered.

It's a man, he's impotent because he targets hookers. Apologies, prostitute or lady of the night. Shocking job because it's freezing up in Nebraska, even in April. He feels slight remorse because he poses his victims like a traditional corpse, yet he views them as objects because he leaves them in their underwear. Which seems typical if you're going to see a hooker that she might get naked if you pay her.

Now, we just need to figure out why.

I go with Emily and Seaver to speak with grieving families. We learn bits and pieces of each history. That's how each case went. Your training wrapped up only a few cases later. You decide that since you were given free rein and that the team was really starting to show openness to you it was time you hosted a fun get-together. Wrapping up a case in Florida and touching back down at Quantico at two pm, you ask the team,

"Would you guys like to go get some drinks?" everyone looks hesitant. Grief and tensity underline their features. So you try to fabricate a good night, "I could get some wine coolers and Chinese food." you smile hopefully. Hotchner relents

"I'll come so long as I can bring Jack."

"Alright, are there any foods he prefers ooh or any allergies?" Your excitement cuts you off. Your eyes scan the team and land on Spencer. He's slowly cut his hair shorter and some of the sadness has fallen from his eyes. He purses his lips and puts his hands in his pockets,

"I prefer Thai," he sighs

"Not a problem, there's a Thai place down the road." you punch in the passcode on your Blackberry. "I could call it in now?"

"That's alright. Just send me your address. I'll be there whenever you text." His face heats up, and he slinks off to his desk to file his report with record speed and detail.

"Great. I'll email the team my address, and I'll buzz you up at six," I offer, and Emily nods.

"If there will be wine coolers, I should bring something palatable." Rossi makes his famous little smirk, and Aaron regards him with a knowing smile.

"Ooh, this will be nice, I'll bring some beers. Baby girl are you coming over to (Y/n)'s?" Morgan steals Garcia's attention as she clicks out to greet the team after a job well done

"Oh, that sounds like a hoot and a holler!" She cheers pointedly

Sometime around Eight pm that night, the cheap alcohol had flown, and Aaron was bringing his sober son home. Rossi and Emily were giggling over a real bottle of champagne from France. Morgan was laughing as he finished off his fourth beer and watched Reid desperately writhe under your highly obvious flirting. Your heels had long been kicked off, but you still squirmed around in nylons and a white scoop-neck t-shirt.

"So, Reid, how many degrees do you have?" you held your third wine cooler in your hand, and your other arm was on the leather sofa dangerously close to looping around Spencer's neck. His legs are crossed, and he's still on his first beer, nervous about using any addictive substances.

"Currently, I have six, not counting my high school degree, a BA in psychology and sociology, my doctorate in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering, and recently, I got a BA in philosophy." You have the definition of an ear-to-ear smile.

"That is ridiculously impressive." you practically radiate light as you make the most genuine eye contact and take a sip of your bottle.

"Thank you," he replies curtly

"No, I mean it. You're so far above my metric of impressiveness. Your girlfriend must be a lucky woman."

"What makes you think I have a girlfriend?" He smiles at your classically alcohol-flushed face

"You don't? So I wouldn't be encroaching if I asked you on a date?" It's almost like you halted time and the rotation of oxygen.

"I wouldn't say encroaching, but maybe.."

"Are you against it?" You kind of shift closer to him

"Certainly not. I just don't know if you're familiar with the coworkers dating clause."

"I just signed my contract, I am very familiar. So long as it doesn't impede our ability to collaborate."

"So how about," Slowly, you've shifted closer to him so that you're nearly chest to chest, and he leans backward? " Tomorrow at eight p.m., I'll pick you up, and we'll go get Thai."

"That sounds lovely."

"Perfect." you smile in content and give him some personal space.

Nine am rolls around, and you make your way to the office to prepare for a long day of phone calls and gore. A stabbing in Knoxville that seemed like a gang collision. Some suspicious kills in Annapolis that definitely should be presented, and a murder/suicide in Vegas. You called the meeting, and Hotch decided that the team needs some rest and that they should meet at the jet tomorrow at eight. You spend the rest of your day sorting files and answering emails.

At five, you saunter to Reid's desk and smile at his slightly sweaty face. "I'll see you in three hours." You wink. Once you get in your car, you scream in glee and squeeze the wheel. The next three hours are spent in anxiety. You shower and blow dry your hair, opting to take out your contacts for the night. You decide on jeans, a tank top, and a big UCLA hoodie.

You leave your house at exactly 7:47, so the 13-minute drive will leave you at Reid's doorstep at exactly eight. You find him sitting on his porch step, swinging his hand in front and behind his back until his hands collide. You pull off to the side and roll down the window,

"Get in, loser. We're going shopping!"

"What?" he still jogs up to the window, and you unlock your door for him.

"C'mon, you've never heard of mean girls? Regina George?"

"No, I watch nerdy movies, old classical films."

"That is a classic. Seat belt, please. We'll have to watch it sometime." You put the car in drive and take him into the small 'Chinatown' near your apartment. You two got pad Thai and khao pad and drove to a scenic park to enjoy it. Being all too familiar with Ted Bundy and James Thomas, you lock the doors tight.

"Do you want to keep the radio playing?" Even with the car in park, you keep the car running, so the heat will keep you warm. The radio plays some old Radio Head songs.

"Sure, if you want to." He tears open the brown paper bag. You grab the bar under your seat, push it all the way back, and bring your knees up to your chest. Reid hands you your fried rice, and you get a pair of chopsticks from him. You eat the rice with ease, and Spencer looks at you perplexed. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" you cover your mouth with your hand as you chew

"Eat with those freaking sticks." His anger is overlain with his flummoxed tone.

"I don't know, there's always been a lot of Asian restaurants near me. It's like kids who just know how to play the piano after watching their parents." This launches Spencer into a five-minute speech about inherited talents' pathology. When he finally runs out of breath, he's relieved that you never told him to can it. In fact, you sat there intently, listening to him ramble on about inherent perceptions.

"I've talked a lot, so why don't you tell me something about you?" he fiddles with his fingers as he focuses on you.

"Uh, what to say that's not too weird," you scan over the ceiling of your car as you think out loud, "Uh, in college, I nearly switched my major to film after watching Breakfast at Tiffanies and then buying copies of hundreds of old films."

"Really? What about those old movies that drew you in?" He struggles to get some noodles and you hold back your giggles

"Romance seemed more simple back then. I mean, I'm aware that it was normal and even expected to domestically abuse, but that doesn't mean that Liz Taylor and Marylin Monroe didn't play in some of my favorite movies. I had some shitty exes that thought it was better to be like reality rather than film."

"Is one of them the one that got you pregnant?"

"What? How do you know about that?" It took Spencer far too long to register what had slipped from his mouth. Before he could even begin his explanation with a double side of apologies, you had launched into a rant about men and privacy and why everyone sucked.

"Explain yourself!" you demanded with the same intonation of a banshee

"The team was working on your background check, and we did some further snooping. We found your medical records, and it said you lost your son at 17 years old?" tears had gathered in your eyebags in a way that resembled sweat.

"Why would you stay to dig? Why did you did at all?"

"I would like you to know that it wasn't my idea, although I know you don't care. I just wanted to know more about you."

"And you couldn't just come up and ask about my favorite color or favorite Beatles song?" you raked your hands through your hair.

" I didn't-I," he sighed through his teeth, "I didn't mean to violate your privacy. It was wrong. I shouldn't have done it. If I could take it back, I wouldn't because knowing you're not the perfect Barbie you appear to be gives me the bravery to talk to you. Knowing you're not perfect, it-it forces me to think about you as a human, not just the goddess I perceive." The tears pouring down your face change from anger and betrayal to shock and elation.

No man had treated you with such adoration, not entirely. Most of them buttered you up with words that were so predictable they could be seen as binary code. These words. These words are original and genuine. It never struck you that someone could love you from so little without touching you.

Touch.

You tugged your sleeve up the heel of your palm, wiped your eyes, and then placed your hand on Spencer's forearm. At first, he jumped back from the contact, but he slid his hand into yours slowly.

"That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me, ever."

"It's just the truth; in your second case, you said you hate liars." you giggle a little as your tears dry up.

"Would it be too soon to kiss you?" your smile is all shy and crooked

"Only if you say so," he chews on his inner lip but the apprehensive lean in makes your chest lift.

[casefilesunearthed]

⚠️ Flash Warning!!! ⚠️

Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene - Halloween Horror Nights

Boris Shuster x Madame Murie

[kyywritess]

CHAPTER 8: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 2.8k

warning: Violence, mentions of blood, knives/stabbing.

---

Since the night of the hero gala, you and James had thrown yourselves headfirst into the Moretti investigation. The memory of that evening—the balcony, Bakugo’s wounded expression, and his retreating figure—played on an endless loop in your mind, but you shoved it down, burying it beneath layers of work and sleepless nights.

You’d left the gala alone, and since then, Bakugo had been a ghost. He didn’t show up at the gym during your usual hours, and you hadn’t dared to reach out. You figured he needed space, and honestly, you didn’t blame him. If he hated you, you deserved it. After all, you had rejected him in the cruelest way, withholding the truth under the guise of protecting him.

Now, every waking moment was devoted to unearthing the evidence you needed to take Moretti down. You told yourself it was for justice, for closure, but deep down, you knew it was also for Bakugo. You needed to make things right. To come clean, to apologize for the lies, and maybe, just maybe, to give him a reason to forgive you.

One long, grueling night, James managed to secure access to confidential Japanese case files—likely crossing a few legal boundaries in the process, but you didn’t care. Laws and rules seemed inconsequential when the only thing that mattered was unraveling the threads of Moretti’s web.

The files contained a chilling revelation. The man with the tattoo on his wrist—the one burned into your memory—was linked to a series of brutal murders in Musutafu. Innocent women, each life stolen with a message carved into the crime scenes that only you could understand. The weight of it crushed you, the realization that these killings weren’t random. They were warnings. Moretti was taunting you, forcing you to see his reach, his cruelty, and his power.

The guilt was suffocating. Every face in those files felt like another strike against your resolve, but you couldn’t let it break you. You wouldn’t. The pain was a reminder that you were on the right path, that you had a chance to end this. And now, finally, you had something to go on.

The new information gave you a flicker of hope —a trail of locations and timestamps where Moretti’s men had been sighted. It was the first solid lead you’d had in weeks, and it was enough to rekindle the fire inside you.

Your hero costume still fits like a second skin, the all-black material hugging your body with an almost suffocating precision. The suit’s sleek fabric molds to your frame, firm and supportive—like it’s designed just for you, like it was made to measure. You had always admired the way the costume looked, and now, years later, your vision seemed to reflect everything you had become: strong, sleek, and dangerous. The mask that covered your face didn’t leave much for anyone to see, except your eyes—piercing, determined eyes that told anyone in your path exactly who they were dealing with.

It’s been six long years since you last wore it. Six years of training, of staying hidden, of learning to control a power so dangerous you feared it more than anything. But tonight, slipping into the familiar black fabric and feeling it stretch over your body, you couldn’t help but feel that rush of energy surge through your veins. It never got old. The suit felt like home, like a part of you, and the weight of the mask reminded you of everything you had fought to become—and everything you had left behind.

As you pull on the gloves, the cool metal of your utility belt clicks against the fabric. You can’t help but admire the intricate stitching that runs along your waist, the design perfect down to the finest detail. The fabric is laced with minerals, rare and strong, designed to help control your quirk. The quirk that you never fully trusted.

Your quirk, physical manipulation, gives you the power to shift and bend forces of weight, to manipulate objects, energy, people, and even entire structures. It’s the kind of power that could move mountains or level them, depending on your emotions. When you’re calm, you have control—but when you’re upset, when anger and fear take hold, your quirk becomes a ticking time bomb, ready to explode. That’s what happened the night you blacked out and woke up with a bleeding head, unable to recall anything.

Training has made you cautious, teaching you to keep your emotions in check. Years of discipline and self-control have allowed you to control it, but you always feared that if you lost that control, everything would come crashing down. But tonight, you hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Tonight, you needed to keep your head.

After weeks of silence, you’d received a tip—a whisper on an old, secured landline that one of Moretti’s men would be at a bar tonight. The man was important, connected, and you needed to know where Moretti was. So you and James decided to follow the lead. He had urged you to involve the pros again, but you quickly shut that down. 

The car in the alleyway feels like a cage, your hands gripping the leather seats as you watch the shadows stretch across the pavement. The waiting game never gets easier. It gnaws at you, especially tonight, knowing that the man you’re hunting could be anywhere. Anxiety coils tight in your chest, the thought of confronting a ghost from your past, churning your stomach.

“How long have we been sitting here?” James asks from the passenger seat, his voice low but edged with a hint of impatience. His eyes flicker toward the bar’s entrance.

“Two hours,” you answer, your voice steady but the tension in your muscles betraying you. You’re not letting your nerves show, but inside, you feel like a coil ready to snap. “He won’t leave yet. We haven’t missed him.”

James glances at you, clearly unconvinced. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I can go with you.”

“No,” you say sharply, the word final. “I’ve got this.”

You stare at the bar’s entrance, your eyes narrowing. Isaac. The name rolls off your tongue like poison. Isaac, blonde-haired, with the face of a man who has seen too much. He was Moretti’s right hand for years, and you knew him all too well. His cold, calculating eyes never missed a thing, and his loyalty to Moretti was only rivaled by his ruthlessness.

Your instincts tingle. He’s here. You can feel it. A subtle weight in the air, the tension building in your bones. It’s like a sixth sense, honed from years of practice. You don’t know how you know, but you trust it.

Then, like clockwork, he steps out from the bar, his sharp profile cutting through the neon lights. He stands on the sidewalk for a moment, glancing around before shouting for a taxi.

Your heart pounds. This is it.

Without a word, you unlock the car door and slide out, ignoring James’s muttered warning. “YN, stop! Stay in the car!” His voice is laced with concern, but you don’t hear him. You’re already striding toward Isaac, your body moving with purpose.

Isaac doesn’t notice you at first, too busy fidgeting with his phone, but as soon as he slides into the cab, you’re there. You don’t hesitate. You pull open the door, stepping into the cab with a practiced fluidity that only someone like you can manage.

“Hey, this is my cab!” Isaac barks, but you don’t flinch.

You glance at the driver, your expression cold and unwavering. “We’re sharing,” you say smoothly, tossing a few bills into the front seat. “Take me up the block. Doesn’t matter where.”

The driver, clearly unbothered by the tense atmosphere, nods and shifts the car into drive. Isaac remains blissfully unaware, but that doesn’t last for long. You slide a knife from your belt, its cold steel glinting under the low lights.

“Say one word, and I’ll put this knife through your crotch,” you murmur, your voice laced with venom as you hold a knife to him. 

Isaac freezes, his gaze finally snapping to you. His eyes widen and the realization slowly dawns on him. Recognition flickers in his pupils, and you see the hate burn brighter.

“I always knew you were a crazy bitch.” Isaac hisses, his voice trembling with anger and fear.

“Yeah?” you reply, “well I’m about to get crazier.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but you’re faster. With a swift movement, you grab his chin and force him to look at you. You see the fire in his eyes, the stubborn defiance, but it won’t save him.

“Tell me where Moretti is,” you demand, your tone chilling. “Or I swear, I’ll cut you open right here.”

Isaac snarls. “Fuck you.”

“Okay” Taking the knife you pull it away and plunge it into his thigh, being careful to cover his mouth. 

“Tell me, Isaac,” you growl, “Or is that man-crush of yours so strong you’re willing to lose your dick over it?”

Isaac’s jaw clenches, his eyes flickering with defiance. “You want to know where Moretti is? Find him yourself. I don’t work for him anymore.”

“Bullshit.” You twist the blade deeper into his leg.

“Now fucking tell me, or I’ll send Moretti a gift next,” you hiss, your voice dripping with venom.

Isaac’s muffled whimpers are all you hear as you give him one last warning.

“Fine!” he gasps, “He’s staying at the Musutafu motel, on the outskirts of the city.”

“If you’re lying to me,” you warn, “I will kill you.”

He’s sweating now, breathing hard, his face pale as a ghost.

The cab pulls to a stop, and you yank the knife out of his leg, leaving a pool of blood behind. The driver, still unaware of the tension in the backseat, waits for your next command.

You exit without another word, tossing a few more bills toward the driver before slamming the door behind you. As the car pulls away, you spot a black SUV pulling up beside you. You don’t need to look twice to know who’s behind the wheel.

“Well?” Tucker asks, his voice steady but with an edge of impatience.

“He’s at the Musutafu motel,” you reply, your voice curt and emotionless. You slide into the car, the bloody knife still clutched in your hand.

Tucker notices the weapon, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Don’t ask,” you mutter, slumping back into the seat. “Just drive.”

---

The crime rates had doubled in the past two weeks, ever since word of a serial killer leaked to the public. The Hero Committee had tried their best to keep the case under wraps, but someone in the department had let the information slip.

With the city spiraling into panic, the pro-heroes were stretched thin. So focused on this case, they’d nearly lost sight of everything else unraveling around them.

“Shoto, any updates on James Tucker?” Deku asked, standing at the head of the conference table. His fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose, the telltale sign of an impending headache.

“Not yet,” Todoroki replied, flipping through a folder of old files. “The only intel I’ve managed to pull are outdated case records and images. If Tucker’s gone into hiding, it’s clear he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Why the hell would he be in hiding?” Bakugo snapped, slamming his hands against the table as he rose from his seat. Weeks of fruitless effort were taking their toll, and the tension in the room was palpable.

Bakugo had been more frustrated than usual lately, and everyone unlucky enough to cross his path could feel the searing heat of his anger. His temper, usually sharp and explosive, seemed to have an added edge now, as though something was festering beneath the surface. The smallest inconveniences sent him into a spiral of irritation—training dummies obliterated into smoldering debris, doors slammed with enough force to rattle the entire building, and curt, venom-laced words that made even his closest friends keep their distance.

At the agency, he barked orders more than usual, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. Kirishima, ever the peacemaker, tried to crack a joke to lighten the mood, but Bakugo’s glare silenced him before the words could fully leave his mouth. Mina would whisper to Sero, “What crawled up his ass and died?” only to quickly clam up when Bakugo’s piercing crimson eyes flicked their way.

It wasn’t just work either—his frustrations followed him home. The gym became a battleground, weights clanging loudly as he threw himself into his workouts with a reckless intensity. The punching bag in the corner stood no chance, shredded after one particularly heated session. Yet no matter how much he pushed his body to its limits, the tension inside him never seemed to dissipate.

The truth was, Bakugo wasn’t just angry. He was hurt. And the wound festered deeper than he was willing to admit.

He hadn’t seen you since that night at the gala. Since you’d looked at him with those beautiful, unreadable eyes and told him—what, exactly? That he didn’t matter? That you didn’t feel the same way? It didn’t make sense. The way you looked at him didn’t match the words you said. The way your voice trembled, the way you avoided his gaze—it was like you were running from something. But what?

The questions plagued him, chasing him into his restless nights. He hated not having answers, hated how powerless he felt, hated how much space you were taking up in his head. Damn you. Damn your stupid, gorgeous face and your laugh and the way you felt so perfect next to him that night.

But more than anything, he hated the gnawing feeling in his chest. The one that whispered he might have lost you for good.

“Actually, Kacchan,” Deku interjected, sliding a photograph across the table toward him. “I might have something.”

Bakugo picked up the image, his crimson eyes narrowing as he examined it. The picture showed a young girl, no older than eight, with wide, curious eyes and a small, cautious smile.

“That’s Anthony Moretti’s daughter,” Deku explained. “We found her in an adoption database. She’s here in Japan.”

Bakugo’s eyes lingered on the photograph, his brow furrowing. There was something about the girl that tugged at his memory.

“I’ve seen her before,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

“What? Where?” Deku asked, leaning forward.

“At the gym,” Bakugo replied, placing the photo back on the table. “Y/N is her boxing coach.”

The revelation sent a ripple of unease through the room.

“Who put her up for adoption?” Todoroki asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s anonymous. Adoption records don’t disclose that information,” Deku replied.

“How old was she when she was adopted?”

“She couldn’t have been older than two,” Deku said, flipping through his notes.

“Six years ago,” Bakugo muttered, piecing things together. “Right after Moretti was arrested.” He looked up, his gaze sharp. “What about her mom?”

“There’s no record of a mother,” Deku answered, his tone heavy.

“Dammit,” Bakugo growled, his frustration mounting. “We need to find Tucker. He’s the key to this.”

Todoroki chimed in, hesitant. “Maybe... maybe Y/N knows something about the girl. She might be able to help.”

“No,” Bakugo barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not dragging her into this, and I sure as hell ain’t questioning a kid.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. Time was running out, and with every passing moment, the lines between their responsibilities and their morals blurred further.

“I’ll find Tucker myself if I have to. Got a photo, Icy Hot?” Bakugo demanded, his tone sharp with determination.

Todoroki flipped through his folder without hesitation, pulling out a slightly worn photograph of James Tucker and handing it to him.

Bakugo’s grip tightened around the photo as he stared at it, his blood running cold. His entire stance stiffened, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.

He knew this man.

The realization hit him like a freight train, his mind reeling. He’d seen Tucker before—seen him with you.

Everything started falling into place, the fragmented pieces of the puzzle forming a picture that Bakugo could no longer ignore. The explosion. Moretti’s daughter. Tucker. You.

The timeline fit too perfectly to be a coincidence.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his crimson eyes narrowing as his thoughts raced. You were connected to Moretti—there was no doubt about that now. But how?

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @faetoraa @iissza @theasgardianmexican

[kentobb]

hiromi higuruma x female secretary (AU).

chapter 11 > chapter 13

chapter 12

The next morning, you wake up before your alarm, heart fluttering with nervous energy. You try to convince yourself it’s because of work impressions matter, right? But deep down, you know it’s not just about the job. It’s about Higuruma. The quiet tension between the two of you, the lingering memory of his touch, and the confusion of what it all meant. Were you dating? Was he just a passing crush? The ambiguity gnawed at you.

After dressing with extra care, you grab your coat and step out of your apartment, the crisp morning air biting at your cheeks. The familiar aroma of coffee and pastries drifts toward you as you pass the café near the law firm. On impulse, you decide to stop in.

“One hot chocolate and… a black coffee, please,” you tell the kind cashier. The coffee isn’t for you, of course. You figure it might be nice to leave it on Higuruma’s desk with a little note. Something simple but thoughtful.

While waiting for your order, you take a seat near the window. The café is warm and bustling with the morning crowd. Next to you sits a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark, messy hair. a scar on the corner of his right lip and striking green eyes. His presence is imposing yet oddly unassuming, his expression calm as he stirs a cup of tea.

“Looks like it’s going to be one of those days,” the man says casually, his deep voice cutting through the background noise.

You glance up, meeting his gaze briefly before following his line of sight out the window. The sky is heavy with thick gray clouds, the threat of rain undeniable. You smile politely. “Yeah, I forgot my umbrella. Again.”

He chuckles, low and rich, shaking his head. “An umbrella is like a good marriage. You don’t realize how much you need it until it’s gone.”

You raise an eyebrow, caught off guard but amused. “That’s… oddly profound.”

He leans back in his chair, smirking. “Something my wife used to say.”

The mention of his wife makes you soften. “That’s a good one. She sounds wise.”

“She was,” he says, his tone distant for a moment before he refocuses on you. “Name’s Toji, by the way. Toji Fushiguro.”

You offer him a polite smile, “Y/N Y/L/N…” extending your hand as well. His grip is firm but brief.

“Nice to meet you,” you say.

“Likewise.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, his eyes sharp and calculating, though his demeanor remains easygoing.

The barista calls your name, breaking the moment. You stand, grabbing the two cups, the warmth seeping into your hands. As you turn to leave, you glance back at Toji, waving lightly.

“Have a good day,” you say.

He raises a hand in return, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You too. Stay dry.”

You step outside into the brisk morning, the encounter already fading from your thoughts as you focus on getting to the office. Yet, there’s something about the way Toji looked at you—like he was seeing more than he let on. You shake the feeling off. Just a stranger, you tell yourself. Nothing more.

Higuruma had arrived at the office an hour earlier than usual, his focus sharp yet burdened. He and Ms. Tanaka had been combing through archives, searching for the case file of Toji Fushiguro’s wife’s murderer. When they finally unearthed it, Higuruma’s eyes scanned the documents with precision, though his mind was heavy with unease.

The file was a stark reminder of one of his most notorious cases. A man accused of murder had walked away with the charge dismissed and served only 15 years for illegal possession of weapons. The legal maneuvering, the connections with the Department of Justice—it was all part of what had made Higuruma a star in the courtroom. But what had been a professional triumph for him had been a nightmare for Toji Fushiguro.

Higuruma stared at the pages, the memories stirring faintly. It had been a long time, but some victories carried a weight that never truly left.

He sighed and closed the file, sliding it into his bag with a deliberate motion. “Keep this conversation private,” he instructed Ms. Tanaka, his tone firm but quiet.

Ms. Tanaka nodded, her loyalty unwavering. “Of course, Mr. Higuruma.”

With the file secured, Higuruma returned to his office, his thoughts swirling with a million possibilities. But as he entered, he froze.

You were just stepping into the office, coffee cups in hand. Both of you stopped, locking eyes. For a moment, the weight of the morning seemed to lift, replaced by something quieter, something warmer.

“Good morning,” you said softly, extending one of the cups toward him.

Higuruma’s gaze dropped to your hand, his fingers brushing yours as he took the cup. The brief contact sent an unexpected jolt through him.

“Good morning, you look… beautiful ” he replied, his voice a little gentler than usual. “Thank you.”

You offered a small smile, nodded, and headed to your desk, leaving him standing there with the coffee in hand.

Higuruma walked into his office, shutting the door behind him. As he set the cup on his desk, his eyes caught the faint doodle on the side—a tiny, slightly crooked heart. He smiled, a rare and genuine expression that softened his usually serious demeanor.

He took a sip of the coffee, the warmth spreading through him as he glanced back at the cup. The chaos of the morning, the weight of the file in his bag—all of it faded for a moment.

For now, all he could focus on was the gesture, the little heart, and the person who’d drawn it.

As you worked diligently on Sukuna’s case, the weight of it evident in the stacks of paperwork and endless legal complications, you decided you needed Higuruma’s input on a specific detail. Grabbing your notes, you made your way toward his office, the sound of your heels echoing softly in the quiet corridor.

Before you could knock, Ms. Tanaka approached quickly, her expression slightly alarmed. “There’s a woman here to see Mr. Higuruma,” she said, her voice hushed but tense.

You raised an eyebrow, confused but curious. “A potential client?”

“I don’t think so,” Ms. Tanaka replied, glancing toward the waiting area. “She insists on speaking to him directly.”

You looked down the hall and caught sight of the woman—a poised figure with an air of quiet menace. Her hair was perfectly styled, and she held the hand of a pink-haired child, who looked no older than six or seven. The child clung to her, staring ahead with wide, curious eyes.

Ms. Tanaka stepped ahead, opening the door to Higuruma’s office. You lingered nearby, unsure whether to stay or leave.

“Mr. Higuruma,” Ms. Tanaka announced, “there’s someone here to see you.”

Higuruma glanced up from the papers scattered on his desk. His sharp eyes flicked to the woman as she entered, taking in her composed demeanor and the child at her side.

“Are you here seeking legal counsel?” he asked, his tone neutral but curious.

The woman stepped forward, her presence commanding yet unsettling. “I’m not here for legal counsel,” she said, her voice steady but laced with a faint edge. “I’m here to speak to my husband’s lawyer.”

Higuruma straightened in his chair, a crease forming between his brows. “Your husband?”

The woman met his gaze with a calm intensity that sent a ripple of unease through the room. “Yes,” she replied, her lips curling into a subtle, almost predatory smile. “My husband’s lawyer. You.”

Higuruma’s confusion deepened. “I think there’s been some misunderstanding. Who is your husband?”

The woman’s eyes gleamed, and the room seemed to grow colder despite the warmth of the morning light streaming in. She placed a hand on the pink-haired child’s shoulder and leaned forward slightly, her tone sharpening with her next words.

“My husband,” she said deliberately, “is Ryomen Sukuna.”

The air in the office turned heavy, the weight of her words pressing down on everyone present. Higuruma’s eyes widened for the briefest moment, his usual composure breaking under the sheer shock of her revelation.

You froze where you stood, your breath catching as the gravity of her statement sank in. Sukuna. The man whose case you were working on. The man infamous for his crimes, his reputation casting a shadow over everything.

And here, standing in front of Higuruma, was his wife and their child.

The atmosphere in Higuruma’s office was heavy, the weight of the revelations sitting thick between the four of you. Higuruma sat behind his desk, his elbows resting on the polished surface, his fingers steepled as his intense gaze fixed on Uraume. You sat to his right, silent and stunned, trying to process the unfolding drama. Uraume and the small boy, Yuuji, sat across from him, the child quietly clutching his mother’s hand, oblivious to the storm brewing around him.

Ms. Tanaka entered with a tray, setting down a cup of coffee in front of Uraume before leaving the room, her quick glance at Higuruma betraying her curiosity about the unexpected visitors. The door clicked shut, leaving the four of you alone.

Higuruma broke the silence. “Your husband has been worried about you,” he said evenly, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of accusation. “We all thought you were in danger. That something had happened to you.”

Uraume sipped her coffee, her movements measured and deliberate, as if the weight of the conversation didn’t affect her. She placed the cup back down on the saucer and met Higuruma’s gaze squarely. “I’ve been in hiding,” she said simply, her tone devoid of remorse.

Higuruma’s brow furrowed, his voice lowering. “Where?”

Uraume hesitated, her sharp eyes darting briefly to you before returning to Higuruma. “I can’t tell you,” she replied, her tone firm but quiet.

“Can’t, or won’t?” he pressed, leaning slightly forward.

She exhaled through her nose, as though she’d been anticipating this interrogation. “I’ve made a deal with the government,” she said, each word dropping like a stone.

The room seemed to shrink. You felt your breath hitch, and your gaze snapped to Higuruma. His face was unreadable, but you could feel the shift in his posture.

Uraume continued, her voice calm but with a faint edge of defiance. “The deal ensures Yuuji and I can start a new life. A safe life. A life where my son can grow up free from his father’s shadow and his sins.”

Higuruma leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “You’re the rat,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Uraume didn’t flinch. Her expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something—perhaps regret, perhaps resolve—in her eyes.

You stared at her, your heart pounding in disbelief. “You betrayed him?” The words left Higuruma’s mouth before he could stop them. “Your own husband?”

Uraume’s gaze flicked to you, her expression unreadable. “I protected my son,” she corrected coldly. “Sukuna is dangerous. You know that as well as I do. He’s a monster. I couldn’t let Yuuji grow up under his influence, or worse, become his tool.”

Higuruma’s jaw clenched, his tone ice-cold. “And in doing so, you signed a death warrant for yourself and your son. Do you think Sukuna will forgive this? Do you think he won’t find you?”

Uraume’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “The government promised protection. A new identity. A new life. They assured me we’d be safe.”

Higuruma scoffed, his voice low and sharp. “Safe? From him? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Sukuna doesn’t just hold grudges—he obliterates them.”

Uraume’s composure cracked for a moment, a flicker of fear crossing her face before she quickly masked it. She turned the conversation sharply. “That’s why I’m here,” she said, her voice regaining its steel. “I’m asking you, Higuruma, to leave his case. Walk away. Let him face justice.”

Higuruma’s eyes narrowed, his voice dangerously calm. “You know I can’t do that. I have a duty to my clients, and I’m not in the habit of breaking my word.”

Uraume leaned forward, her tone growing more desperate. “I know your reputation. You’re the best defense attorney in the country. If you keep working on this case, he’ll walk free, and everything I’ve done to protect Yuuji will be for nothing.”

He shook his head, his expression hard. “I don’t choose sides. I uphold the law. Sukuna is my client, and I’ll defend him to the best of my ability. That’s how this works.”

“You don’t understand!” Uraume’s voice rose slightly, betraying her desperation. “If you win, you’re not just freeing him—you’re sentencing Yuuji and me to death!”

Higuruma stared at her, unyielding. “That’s a risk you took the moment you made this deal. Don’t make me your scapegoat.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You glanced at Yuuji, the innocent boy sitting quietly beside his mother, his big, curious eyes oblivious to the storm swirling around him.

Higuruma finally stood, signaling the end of the conversation. “I’ll give you a day to change locations, to move away before I share this information with Sukuna. Sukuna will not forgive this, Uraume.”

Uraume’s face hardened, her jaw tightening as she rose from her chair, taking Yuuji’s hand. Without another word, she turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.

The room was heavy with unspoken words, and you turned to Higuruma, your voice barely above a whisper. “What happens now?”

He exhaled deeply, his eyes distant. “Now?” he said, his voice grim. “Now, things get dangerous.”

The air in Higuruma’s office was thick with tension. You stood there, staring at him in disbelief, your chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. He leaned back against his desk, his eyes fixed on you, as if bracing for the storm you were about to unleash.

“You can’t tell Sukuna,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “You can’t keep representing him. Higuruma, there’s a mother and a child who just want to escape this madness. If he finds out…” You paused, swallowing hard. “It’s over for her. For Yuuji.”

Higuruma’s jaw tightened, and he straightened, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You think I don’t know that?” he snapped, though his tone was more strained than angry. “Do you think this is easy for me? But this is the reality we’re dealing with. They made their choice when they turned against him. Sukuna doesn’t need me to figure that out. Sooner or later, he will know.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, your heart pounding in your chest. “But you’re helping him,” you said, your voice cracking. “You’re making it easier for him to destroy them. How can you just—”

“Because I have no other choice!” he interrupted, his voice rising. He caught himself, taking a breath to calm down. “If I drop this case, Sukuna won’t just let it go. He’ll come for me, and for anyone he thinks is connected to me. I have enemies, and this is the balance I have to maintain to keep them from tearing everything apart. Do you understand that?”

You looked away, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. The weight of his words pressed down on you, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

Higuruma stepped closer, his voice softening as he reached out to touch your arm. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m not doing this because I want to. I’m doing this because I have to. To protect myself. To protect the people around me.”

Your gaze slowly lifted to meet his, your disbelief giving way to a quiet understanding. “The people around you…” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his eyes locking with yours. “My family… my friends…You,” he said simply.

The word hung in the air, and the room seemed to shrink around you. Your heart skipped a beat as the meaning behind it sank in. He wasn’t just talking about his own safety—he was talking about yours, too.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “For all of this. For putting you in this position.”

You leaned into his touch, your eyes searching his for answers he couldn’t give. “I just… I don’t want to see anyone get hurt,” you said softly.

“Neither do I,” he admitted. “But this is the only way I know how to protect you.”

He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tender and filled with unspoken promises. You melted into it, the tension between you dissolving as his arms wrapped around you.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he offered you a small, genuine smile. “Come to dinner with me tonight,” he said.

Your breath caught at the sudden shift in his tone. “Dinner?” you asked, blinking up at him.

He nodded, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “Our first date,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “Let me take you out. Somewhere nice. Just the two of us.”

A smile tugged at your lips despite everything. “I’d like that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” he said, his smile growing. He kissed you again, softer this time, as if sealing the promise.

For the first time that day, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter.

Nanami strolled into the law firm, his sharp eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. Sitting at your desk, you were engrossed in your work, a soft smile on your face as you shuffled through files. He paused, taken aback by your beauty and the warm presence you seemed to carry. Something tugged at him, but he pushed the thought aside as he approached.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice even but polite.

You looked up, surprised by the sudden presence but quick to return the smile. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Higuruma or his secretary,” he replied, his tone neutral.

Your smile grew, and you extended a hand. “That would be me. I’m his secretary. Can I assist you with anything?”

Nanami blinked, momentarily caught off guard. So, this was the woman. Higuruma had mentioned you before, though sparingly. Now that he was seeing you in person, he understood why his friend was so taken.

He composed himself, shaking your hand briefly. “Ah, I see. I’m Nanami Kento. Higuruma is expecting me.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Nanami,” you said warmly, standing to guide him to Higuruma’s office. “Right this way.”

Nanami followed you silently, his heart sinking with every step. You were kind, professional, and absolutely stunning. He could already see why Higuruma liked you, but knowing that made it feel like a dull arrow had just pierced his chest.

When you knocked on the door, Higuruma’s voice called from the other side, “Come in.”

You opened the door and gestured for Nanami to step in. “Here you go,” you said with a smile before leaving to give them privacy.

As the door closed behind Nanami, Higuruma looked up from his desk. He didn’t miss the slight smirk on his friend’s face. “What’s with that look?”

Nanami sat down across from him, leaning back in the chair. “Is that her?” he asked casually, though he already knew the answer.

Higuruma’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah, that’s her.”

“She’s… really pretty,” Nanami admitted, his tone almost reluctant.

Higuruma leaned back in his chair, a rare softness appearing in his expression. “She is. I asked her out tonight.”

Nanami’s smile didn’t falter, but inside, he felt the metaphorical arrow twist. “Good for you,” he said sincerely. He truly was happy for his friend. But that didn’t make it sting any less.

“Thanks,” Higuruma replied, his tone lighter than usual. “Now, what brings you here?”

Nanami straightened, sliding a folder across the desk. Higuruma’s expression shifted immediately to something darker as he opened it. Inside were surveillance photos of a man Higuruma instantly recognized: Toji Fushiguro.

“Where did you get these?” Higuruma asked, his voice low and tense.

Nanami leaned forward, his expression grim. “Security cameras in the area. He’s been here for months, studying everyone involved in his wife’s case. No one noticed until now.”

Higuruma’s jaw clenched as he flipped through the photos, each one a chilling reminder of the danger looming over them. His anger simmered beneath the surface, his fingers gripping the edge of the folder.

“That’s not all,” Nanami added, his voice steady but grave. “I dug deeper. Checked with the Administration for Children and Families. Toji abandoned his son there months ago. A boy named Megumi.”

Higuruma froze, the weight of the revelation hitting him like a freight train. His hands tightened around the folder as he processed the information. Toji Fushiguro not only sought revenge—he had also discarded his own child in the process.

“This changes everything,” Higuruma muttered, his mind racing.

“It does,” Nanami agreed, watching his friend closely. “Toji isn’t just angry—he’s desperate. And desperate people are dangerous.”

Higuruma’s gaze darkened, his thoughts briefly flickering to you. If Toji had been watching everyone involved, how far is he willing to go?

“I need to protect the people close to me,” Higuruma said, more to himself than to Nanami.

Nanami nodded solemnly. “Then you’d better act fast. Because if Toji’s been studying us this long, he’s already three step ahead.”

You knock gently on Higuruma’s office door, a stack of documents balanced in your arms. “Come in,” his voice calls out, steady but distracted.

Opening the door, you step inside, carefully placing the papers on his desk. Your eyes flick to the folder lying open in front of him. For a brief moment, you hesitate. The pictures spread across his desk make your stomach drop.

It was him.

The man from the café—the one who had spoken so casually about the weather, who had chuckled and offered you a saying that now echoed eerily in your mind.

“Who is this?” you ask, your voice breaking the silence.

Higuruma and Nanami exchange a quick glance, both of their expressions instantly guarded. Higuruma leans forward, resting his hands on the desk. “Why do you ask?”

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening at your sides. “Because… I met him today. At the café.”

Both men freeze, their reactions immediate and palpable. Nanami’s normally stoic face twists with alarm, while Higuruma’s sharp gaze zeroes in on you, his jaw tightening.

“What do you mean, you met him?” Higuruma asks, his voice calm but laced with urgency.

“He was sitting next to me,” you explain, your words tumbling out quickly. “He made small talk—mentioned the weather, said something about forgetting an umbrella. He even introduced himself. Toji. Toji Fushiguro.”

Higuruma’s fists clench, and Nanami immediately stands, pacing to the side of the room. “Did he say anything else?” Nanami presses.

You shake your head, your heart pounding now. “No, just… small talk. He seemed so normal.”

“That’s the man who fled the scene of the accident,” Higuruma finally says, his voice low and measured.

Your breath catches. The connection feels unreal, like something out of a nightmare. “He’s… the one you’re looking for?”

Higuruma nods grimly. His gaze is piercing, his usually calm demeanor cracking just enough for you to see the storm underneath.

Nanami turns to Higuruma. “This confirms it. He’s not just watching the firm—he’s watching us.”

You blink in confusion, trying to process Nanami’s words. “Watching? Why?”

Higuruma’s voice softens, but the tension remains. “Because you’re close to me. And if Toji is targeting everyone connected to this case…” He trails off, his words heavy with implication.

It hits you like a punch to the gut. You were part of this now. You were in his crosshairs. “Case?”

Higuruma stands, his movements deliberate. He steps around the desk and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “From now on, you’re not walking anywhere alone. Not to the café, not to work, nowhere.”

You nod, your mind still spinning. “Hiromi, who is this man?”